Never Grow Up
by Madmaninabox221B
Summary: What if Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper grew up together? Each chapter presents a different event in their lives, leading up to their adult years. rated T just to be safe.
1. Meeting Molly

"Molly Hooper, will you marry me?"

Those were words that she had never expected to come out of the mouth of Sherlock Holmes. She thought that he didn't like the idea of marriage, and that he thought it was pointless. Apparently not. She really should have expected it, considering the things that had happened between them in the past.

* * *

Sherlock stood at a stranger's door, knocking desperately at the door and quietly sobbing. The eight year-old's clothes were torn, and he had multiple cuts on his face and arms.

The door opened, and a woman answered. Her eyes widened in shock at the sight of the bleeding, crying boy.

M-ma'am, I-I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. C-can I come in? I-I got hurt. I-it was a d-dog," The little boy sobbed. The woman opened the door for him, because who could let a crying little boy out in the cold?

"It's alright, sweetheart. Come in. We'll call your parents," She said as she took the boy into the house. She helped him into a stool in the living room, and opened up a first-aid kit on the table beside him. Sherlock told the nice lady his parent's number, trying to talk as well as he could, since he was still crying.

The woman walked into the kitchen to call his parents and get him something to clean himself off with, leaving him alone.

But then, Sherlock noticed something- or rather, someone- peeking out from the stairs in front of him. It was a little girl, about his age, with a brown ponytail and big brown eyes. She walked down the stairs slowly, staring at the hurt visitor.

Once she'd reached him, he made himself stop crying. He couldn't look weak, or this girl would be like all of the adults were when he got hurt. They'd treat him like a baby. He hated it.

"Who are you?" She asked simply, staring at his cut-up face.

"None of your business," Sherlock replied scathingly.

"Well, you're in MY house, so yeah, it is my business." The little girl spat.

"My name is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes,"

"That's a funny name."

"Shut up!" Sherlock immediately regretted being so mean to the girl. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. What's your name?" He inquired.

"Molly," She said shyly. "What happened to your face?"

"I…I was attacked. By pirates. I fought them all off, though," He lied.

"You were crying. People who fight pirates don't cry," Molly pointed out.

"I was not!"

"Was too!"

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

Molly and Sherlock continued like this until they both broke out into fits of giggles.

"Here, let me help you," Molly said after a few moments. She reached behind him and grabbed at the contents of the first aid kit until she finally got ahold of a sanitary wipe. She carefully unwrapped it and began cleaning up his wounds.

"It's supposed to hurt, stop moving," Molly would say whenever he flinched. She finished her procedure by putting a bandage on every single one of his cuts.

"There, all better," Molly smiled at her work. "Oh, wait! I forgot!"

She pressed a small kiss to every one of the bandages, including the ones on his face. Sherlock was beet red by the time she finished.

"Kisses make everything better. Mummy always kisses my cuts and stuff when I get hurt, so maybe it'll help you feel better." She smiled widely, revealing two missing teeth.

Then, Molly's mother came in from the kitchen. She stared at her daughter and the boy, who was now covered in bandages.

"Mummy! I fixed him!" Molly exclaimed happily.

"Yes, it appears you did," The woman muttered. "Molly, you really didn't need to use that many bandages, sweetheart." She chuckle.

"Yes I did," Molly huffed.

"Well, anyways, your mother is coming to get you, um…?"

"Sherlock," Said both Sherlock and Molly at the same time. They broke out into another fit of giggles.

"Well, Molly, you've certainly got to know our guest. Sherlock, you say? What an interesting name!" Molly's mother smiled sweetly. Sherlock scoffed.

"No need to treat me like a child, ma'am. I know that my name is stupid," Sherlock said.

The woman was taken aback by the adult way he spoke when he wasn't crying.

"Well, I'm glad that Molly cheered you up. You really did look awful, covered in all of those cuts and scratches," She said, sounding like she usually would when talking to an adult.

"Mummy, can Sherlock come and play with me in my room?" Molly inquired. She gave her her best puppy-dog eyes.

"Actually, I'm not sure if I want to play. I'd rather just stay here and wait for my mother. We don't live very far away," Sherlock looked down at his shoes. He didn't want to inflict his company upon the girl. Mycroft always told him that he had no friends because was different, just like him.

"We could play pirates," Molly offered. Sherlock's eyes immediately widened as he stared at the girl, not quite believing what he was hearing. She liked pirates. A girl actually liked pirates.

"Yeah, I'll play with you!" He smiled widely and hopped off of the stool, following her to her room before Molly's mother could protest.

Sherlock's mother arrived much too soon for his liking, but the both of them were filled with joy when Mummy Holmes and Mummy Hooper said that they could play together again sometime, since they lived so close together.

Both families had to endure countless pirate stories from their child for the next few years.


	2. Childhood Memories

"D'you think our parents will notice we're out of our beds?" Molly inquired.

She and Sherlock sat upon the roof of Sherlock's house, at about midnight. Molly had moved next door a few months before then. The two ten year-olds stared at the starry sky above them.

Well, one ten year-old and one soon-to-be ten year-old.

"I doubt it. If they do, I'll probably come up with some excuse," Sherlock sniggered.

"I suppose. You'd better. I don't want to get in trouble on my birthday," Molly laughed.

"It's not your birthday yet. There's still seven minutes and fifty-two seconds left." He pointed out. He was always one for specifics.

"Sherlock, don't be annoying on my birthday."

"It's not-"

"I know that it's not my birthday yet!" She practically shouted, though she was laughing. Molly knew that Sherlock was teasing her just for the sake of teasing her, and she found it amusing, but that did not make it any less annoying.

"Well, since you're so convinced that it's your birthday, I might as well give you your present now," Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a long, narrow box.  
"Here."He handed her the box.

"Sherlock, you didn't have to get me anything! I already told you!" Though she opened up the box anyways. Inside was a beautiful necklace with a silver chain. Two pendants hung upon the chain. One anatomically correct heart, and one anatomically correct brain.

"I'm the brain," Sherlock explained. "And you're the heart. Though, in all fairness, you could count as both." He laughed lightly.

Molly stared at the necklace, her eyes wide. It was beautiful. Molly hadn't ever known that Sherlock was capable of something as thoughtful as that present. She immediately threw her arms around him in an embrace, still holding the necklace box.

"It's beautiful, Sherlock. Thank you, so much," She said, not letting go of him. Sherlock was stiff for the first few moments of the hug, but he soon loosened up and hugged her in return.

Eventually, to Sherlock's dismay, Molly pulled away. She then handed him the necklace and turned her back to him, pulling her hair away from her neck.

"Will you put it on me, please?" She asked. Sherlock smiled and complied, fastening the necklace behind her neck before she turned back around. "Thank you so much. You're my best friend, you know that?" She asked with a broad smile.

Sherlock was taken aback by those words. Though he had been friends with Molly for two years, a feat that seemed impossible for him in itself, he had never expected to be anyone's best friend. And especially not the best friend of a girl like Molly.

"You're my best friend too," Sherlock replied quietly, still waiting for the words to sink in. Best friend. I'm Molly Hooper's best friend.

Sherlock looked down at his watch and smiled. One minute until Molly was ten years old.

"One minute left," He told her. They both began counting down from sixty. With each passing number, the both of them became more and more excited for no reason at all.

"Seven…six…five…four…three…two…ONE!" The both of them grinned widely at each other. Molly hugged him once again, and this time, he returned it at once.

"Happy birthday, Molly Hooper," Sherlock muttered as he hugged his best friend.

* * *

Sherlock and Molly both sat opposite to each other in Sherlock's tree house. The two thirteen year-olds tossed the ball around in ridiculous ways, trying keep the ball away from the other.

They were playing a game that they invented when they were ten years old. They would have to chuck the ball, but still try to not have the other catch it. If the ball was caught, they would have to tell a secret that the other didn't know. It was fairly difficult, since the two friends basically knew everything about each other.

It was Sherlock's turn to throw the ball, to his terror. He was running out of ways to throw the ball that Molly didn't already know. Suddenly, a stroke of brilliance hit him. Smirking, Sherlock threw the ball behind his head. It bounced on the wall, to the floor, to the ceiling, and right into Molly's hands. He groaned loudly and Molly laughed.

"Alright, Sherlock. Tell me a secret!" She laughed.

"Fine! My first name is William," Sherlock said. Molly shook her head and sniggered.

"I already knew that! Tell me something that I don't already know, and don't cheat!" She giggled.

Sherlock thought for a long moment, an internal war raging. He knew one secret that Molly didn't know, but he couldn't tell her that! He would surely die. Finally, his instincts lost the battle.

"I-I can dance. I'm rather good at it," He muttered. "Go ahead, laugh. It's fine." He grumbled.

Molly stared at her, clearly embarrassed, friend. She wasn't laughing at all. She was amazed.

"You can dance? Really?" She asked incredulously. A bit of a smile grew on her face. "Then teach me."

Sherlock started at the question. He had expected her to laugh at him and continue the game, not ask him to teach her.

"You don't want me to teach you. It's dumb, really," Sherlock didn't really think that. He was actually very fond of dancing, but he didn't want Molly to know that.

"Yes, I do. Let's go," She grabbed his hand and dragged him to the door of the tree house. Molly climbed down the ladder first, jumping down once she'd gone down a bit.

"Come on, Sherlock. Let's go!"

Sherlock groaned and followed her down the ladder. Once he'd reached the bottom, Molly took his hand once again and pulled him towards his house.

"Molly! I know how to walk!" He groaned when she pulled him into the house and up the stairs to his room.

"I know, but you'll walk slowly if I don't make you. Come, now, you're going to teach me to dance!" Unfortunately, Mummy Holmes heard that exclamation.

"Oh sweetheart, you're going to teach Molly to dance?" She called to the duo at the top of the stairs.

"No!" Sherlock shouted.

"Yes!" Molly laughed. Mummy Holmes laughed as well.

"Well, you two should get to it!"

Molly smiled and pulled Sherlock by the hand into his room. She closed the door behind them and turned to him.

"Alright then, teach me." She grinned. Sherlock allowed himself to give a small smile. He let out a breath and walked towards her.

"Fine. But I'll just teach you a few steps. That's all," He said sternly. Sherlock took her right hand in his, and used his other to place her left hand on his shoulder. He then put his other hand on her waist.

"Just a few steps, alright?"

"Fine."

He proceeded to attempt to teach her the waltz, and she was complete rubbish at it. She kept stepping on his feet, but he was patient with her. He kindly corrected her whenever she made a mistake, and she slowly, but surely, made progress. She got the hang of it after about an hour of working at it, and they were both waltzing around his room to no music.

"You're a great teacher," Molly said quietly, smiling brightly.

"Well, you're the fast learner," Sherlock laughed lightly. "And now for the finish…" He moved his hand down to the small of her back and he dipped her down, the both of them giggling like children. He pulled her back up and put both of his hands on her waist, and she moved her arms to his shoulders. They stopped waltzing, and just circled around his room. Molly rested her head on the taller boy's shoulder. Neither of them focused on anything other than each other, blocking out the world around them.

Mummy Holmes peeked into the room at one point, and saw the two of them dancing, both not able to be any closer to the other. They didn't notice her coming in, as they were a bit busy at the moment.

Mummy Holmes closed the door behind her as she left the room, thinking that there was much more to the duo than just a friendship.


	3. The Dance

Sherlock Holmes was not one for school events. He hated plays, recitals, and absolutely loathed dances.

But he would have to put that hatred aside, for one night.

When he heard that a dance was coming up, Sherlock knew that it was a perfect opportunity.

He would finally ask Molly Hooper out.

The fifteen year old had had a crush on Molly for about a year, but she was always dating some idiotic boy who didn't deserve her. He didn't think that she thought of him as anything more than a friend, no matter how deep her platonic caring was. But he at least had to attempt to ask her out.

But he was gravely afraid of what would happen if Molly said no. Would they still be able to be friends if she knew that he thought of her in that way? Would things be awkward between them? Would he lose one of the few friends that he had, and his best one, at that? There were too many hypothetical questions floating around in his mind, each one worse than the last.

That Sunday, he went to bed full of awful thoughts. He tossed and turned in his bed for hours before he could finally fall asleep.

The next morning, Sherlock awoke to see an enormous thunderstorm rolling towards his window. He tried his hardest not to see it as an omen. He was going to ask Molly Hooper out that day, no matter what.

He are breakfast in silence, which was not at all out of the ordinary, but what was out of the ordinary was the somewhat nervous expression on his face. He was already feeling anxious about something that wouldn't happen for hours.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?" Mummy Holmes inquired. She noticed her son's tense manner, different than the way he usually acted- at least, at home.

"No," Sherlock replied, much too quickly.

"Is it that girl with whom you've spent the majority of your childhood?" Asked Mycroft as he walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

"No, it is not about Molly," He put extra emphasis on her name, reminding Mycroft that she indeed had one. Though, he was probably only pretending not to know her name to annoy Sherlock.

"You're a horrible liar. It's about her, isn't it?"

"Like I'd tell you," Sherlock spat. That was when both Mycroft and Mummy Holmes knew exactly what the problem was. Mycroft laughed loudly, while his mother slapped his arm.

"You're in love with her! I knew it! Sherlock, we've talked about this!" Mycroft gave him a disappointed look. Mummy Holmes stared at her son.

"Mycroft, what have you been telling him?" She inquired. Mycroft suddenly looked just as guilty as Sherlock did embarrassed.

"M-Mummy, it's not anything like that-"

"It's exactly like that!" Sherlock nearly yelled. "He's been telling me that the sentiment that I have for Molly will be my downfall, and that I should terminate our friendship while I still can!"

"Mycroft!" Mummy Holmes exclaimed. "You aren't supposed to say these things to your brother! Sentiment is not a bad thing, Mycroft!" She scolded him like he was still a child.

Sherlock sniggered at his brother, and continued eating in silence, enjoying the scolding that he was getting. Until Mycroft spoke again.

"But you're still in love with her. Wether it's right or wrong doesn't change that," Mycroft smirked cheekily. Sherlock blushed scarlet and just focused on his toast, since he knew that he couldn't deny that Mycroft was right.

* * *

Sherlock waited by his and Molly's treehouse- they had dubbed it as theirs and not his, since the both of them spend so much time in it together- for Molly to walk down their usual trail that they took to school.

He considered asking her to the dance as soon as he saw her, just to get it off of his chest, but he dismissed that idea. If he sprung it on her at once, she wouldn't be able to think straight enough to make the right decision. Sherlock very much hoped that the right decision- to her, at least- would be yes, but he would have to be patient to find that out.

He smiled widely at the sight of her silhouette approaching. She carried her bag over her shoulder, and was walking just as she did every Monday morning, much less enthusiastically than she did on any other day. She might have been unlike most other students, but just like any student in history, she despised Mondays.

Once she'd approached, he greeted her with the usual hug, as he always did.

"Morning, Sherlock," Molly smiled as she pulled away. She noticed his edgy manner, and frowned a bit. "something wrong?"

"No, nothing wrong, I'm fine," He said, a bit too quickly.

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Please, stop asking, it's getting a bit annoying." On a normal day, that remark would sound a bit more scathing, but it was not a normal day. He had to make sure that she was not upset, if he was going to ask her to the dance.

"Well…alright, then. Let's get going," Molly slipped her arm around his waist, and he snaked his around her shoulder, as they proceeded to walk down the trail to school. They always walked to school like that, and they supposed that it was what made everyone think that they were a couple. That, and the fact that they pretty much spent every minute of their time together. They both always jumped to deny that they were dating every time, no matter how much it hurt Sherlock to say it. It hurt him even more to hear her deny it with so much urgency, though he didn't voice it.

They only separated when they arrived, since their lockers weren't anywhere close to each other's.

"I'll see you in biology," Sherlock said as they separated. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and left to his locker.

John was watching the entire scene, and he sniggered once Sherlock had come to his locker.

"You really love her, don't you?" He laughed. Sherlock turned beet red and didn't look at his friend.

"Shut up," He muttered. This just caused John to laugh more.

"So, are you really gonna do it? Are you going to ask her to the dance?" He inquired curiously.

"Well, I'm going to try. I don't know for sure if she'll say yes," Sherlock murmured.

"Sherlock, she's gonna say yes. You've been best friends since eight years old, for God's sake! And you obviously love her, so there's no reason for her not to want to go with you," Those words comforted Sherlock somewhat.

"Thanks John. But if things go south, I'm blaming you," He chuckled, pretending to be stern.

"I think I can live with that," John laughed.

After biology, Molly and Sherlock headed to homeroom. He had been too much of a wimp to ask her during biology, but he swore to himself that he would do it during homeroom.

* * *

They sat in their usual seats, in the middle of the classroom, directly beside each other. They had debated where they would choose to sit in homeroom for two days when they had to make that decision. Molly, being the good student that she was, wanted to sit front and center, but Sherlock wanted to sit in the back, to not be seen as much. Eventually, they had come to a compromise.

Sherlock turned to her once he was sure that nobody was listening.

"Um, Molly, I need to ask you something," Just don't be a wimp and get on with it, he told himself. "D'you think…you'd want to go to the dance with me?" He asked, going for the simpler approach.

To Sherlock's relief, Molly smiled.

"Yes, of course I'll go with you. Thanks for asking. Boys keep coming up to me at the worst times to ask, and I've told them that I don't really want to go to the dance with a date," Molly explained. Sherlock's heart immediately sunk. She just wanted to go as friends.

"I'm glad that we'll be going together, as friends," Molly paused for a moment. "You did just want to go as friends, right?" She asked cautiously.

Sherlock wanted to scream 'no', he wasn't just asking to go as friends, but his common sense did not win out.

"Yeah, just as friends," He muttered, almost unable to hide the sullen disappointment in his voice.


	4. Accidental Rejection

"You told her that you just wanted to go as friends?!"

John and Sherlock sat at their usual table in the cafeteria, John staring at Sherlock with his mouth hanging open. It was clear that he was trying his hardest not to laugh at his friend, since he was clearly in pain.

"No! I didn't tell her! She just, sort of…assumed," Sherlock muttered, looking down instead of meeting John's eyes. John looked at his friend sympathetically, since it was obvious that Sherlock had never asked a girl out before, and the first and only time he had ever done it, it had blown up in his face. "I need help, John. I don't just want to be friends! But I don't want to force myself on her either, if she doesn't want to be more than friends. What do I do?" He asked, almost desperately.

John thought hard for a moment, thinking of the right advice to give his friend. He had admittedly never been in a situation such as this before, so he had to wrack his brains.

"Alright, here's what you've got to do. You take her to the dance, hang out for awhile, just like you normally would. But then, the slow song comes on. You ask her to dance, she says yes. And then…bam! You kiss her, and she's yours," John grinned at his idea. He thought that it was awfully clever.

"Idiotic and cliché," Sherlock said bluntly, waving his hand as though trying to wave away the dumb idea. "Think of something that you didn't see off of a film."

John's smile fell. He had really thought that his idea was good. And Sherlock's blunt manner did nothing for John's compliance to help him. He had to remind himself that he should take pity on Sherlock, because he had just had his heart broken.

"That's my advice. Take it or leave it. Not sure what else there is, mate," he said simply. John looked at his friend for a moment, and his expressions softened into a look of pity. "You really love her, don't you?" he gave a sympathetic smile.

Sherlock let out a sigh, and nodded. Yes, he loved Molly Hooper. But it was clear that she didn't feel the same way, what with the fact that she had immediately thought that he was asking her to go to the dance with him as friends, the exact opposite of what Sherlock was going for.

"You love someone? Do tell,"

And, speak of the devil, there was Molly Hooper, standing behind Sherlock, obviously listening to everything that they had said.

"Well, go on then, what's his name?" Molly inquired curiously, sitting down beside the taller boy. At that, Sherlock blushed scarlet, and John struggled to contain his laughter.

"I- Molly, I'm not gay! She's not a boy!" Sherlock said defensively, looking anywhere but Molly's eyes. He could hardly look her in the eyes at that moment.

"Really? Are you sure?" Molly said sarcastically. "I mean, I'm sorry for forcing you out of the closet like this, but it's a bit obvious. You've never shown the slightest interest in a girl in your life…" John glanced over at his friend, and his laughter ceased immediately. Sherlock's eyes were steadily filling with tears. "It's obvious that whoever you love, it's not a girl."

"It is!" Sherlock exclaimed, looking away from the girl. He didn't want her to see him like that, so defenseless, so weak. A victim of sentiment. Mycroft was right, he was right all along.

"Well, I'm sorry, but it was an educated guess. I suppose only Sherlock Holmes is allowed to make deductions," Molly teased. She clearly couldn't see the tears in the boy's eyes. "So, if it isn't a boy, who is she? I mean, if you really loved her, you should be going to the dance with her, not me." If Sherlock weren't on the verge of tears, John would have burst out laughing at the pure irony of the situation.

"I…I can't tell you," Sherlock said meekly, pretending to rest his face in his hand so that he could wipe his eyes.

"Why not?"

"I just can't,"

Molly stared at the boy in front of her. Sherlock had never kept a secret from her in their entire life. They knew everything about each other, everything. Best friends since childhood. And now Sherlock wouldn't tell her who she had a crush on? Something was wrong, Molly could tell.

"Sherlock, please tell me. I won't make fun of you or anything. I swear, I won't tell anyone. Why can't you tell me?"

"I just can't!" Sherlock nearly yelled, eyes filled to the brim with tears. Molly had only seen him cry a few times, and she hated it every time.

"Sherlock, is something wrong? What's-" But before she could finish, Sherlock stood, not even grabbing his bag, and did what he had silently promised to himself that he wouldn't do.

Sherlock fled. He ran from the cafeteria, leaving Molly and John alone at their table. The girl looked back and forth between John, and the door that Sherlock had burst out of. In fact, the entire cafeteria was staring at the door, as if expecting him to burst back in with an explanation. It took a few moments before the usual chatter of the cafeteria resumed.

"What was that about? Why was he crying?" Molly asked John worriedly, while John just stared at her. Was Molly Hooper, one of the smartest people he knew, really that thick?

"Well, people do usually cry after having their hearts broken," John spat, almost glaring at the girl. He couldn't help it, she had just broken his best friend's heart.

"Who broke his heart?" Molly asked, still ignorant to basically everything that had just happened.

"You did! Molly, did you honestly think that Sherlock just wanted to go to the dance as friends?" John exclaimed angrily. His expression quickly softened when he saw Molly's face. She had finally realized what she'd done.

"I…the girl you were talking about…she's me?" Molly said at nearly a whisper. No, it couldn't be. Sherlock couldn't love her. She was just Molly, not someone like Irene Adler, with her genius and her flawless looks. Sherlock couldn't love someone like her. But, apparently, he did.

"I've got to go find him," Molly muttered, hitching her bag up on her shoulder.

"Damn right you do. You'd better set this straight, because we both know what Sherlock is like when he's upset," John was only half joking.

Molly quickly exited the cafeteria as Sherlock had, though not quite as loudly. She walked down the corridor, and the next, and the next, to no avail. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

He surely wouldn't skip school because of a matter like this, would he? But then again, he was Sherlock Holmes, and Sherlock Holmes often did the unpredictable.

After climbing a flight of stairs and looking through every corridor on that floor, Molly still saw not hide not hair of Sherlock, and began to give up hope. Just when she was about to ascend to the next floor, she heard the bell ring, signifying that her next period was about to start. Swearing to herself, Molly rushed to her sixth period class.

She arrived in just the nick of time, stopping the door with her foot when one of her classmates was about to close it.

After a quick lecture about the importance of punctuality, Molly trudged to her seat, which incidentally was right next to Sherlock's. They made an agreement at the start of every school year to sit next to each other in every class they had together, to avoid sitting near anyone they'd rather avoid. Sherlock's seat was empty, to Molly's dismay.

Just then, Molly spotted something on Sherlock's desk. It looked like it was carved in with a knife of sort. It was three letters, all in capitols, so they obviously stood for something.

MHH

Molly's heart sunk as she looked at the letters. He was clearly more in love with her than he let on to John. The MH probably represented her name at the time, Molly Hooper. But the other H represented…

Oh god.

Molly Hooper-Holmes. That would surely be her name if they were to ever get married. Molly distinctly remembered talking to Sherlock one day, while they were alone, and telling him that if she were to ever get married, she would never drop her last name. And he remembered.

The girl was hardy listening to anything her professor was saying, until she heard Sherlock's name called. Oh, right, roll call.

"Holmes? Does anyone know where Sherlock is?" her professor inquired.

"Um, professor, Sherlock won't be here today, I don't think," Molly said in an undertone, a sad expression upon her face. Well, not sad as much as guilty. She had broken Sherlock Holmes' heart. Sherlock Holmes, the self proclaimed sociopath, had fallen in love with meek little Molly.

The professor continued to call roll, and Molly didn't pay attention in the slightest. She was too focused on Sherlock. What would she do? Had she just lost a friend?

Could she repair his heart? Or was it permanently broken?


	5. No Longer Human

There was hardly a time when Sherlock Holmes had ever felt so terrible. He had been such a coward, running away from Molly like that. All that she had done was want to know about his personal life more than she already did. It wasn't like she had actually done anything incriminating.

Fantastic, Sherlock thought. I've probably just lost the best friend I've ever had. Good one, William.

The boy sat in his tree house, tossing his and Molly's ball around, catching it, then chucking it again. He felt like such an idiot, running away from her like that, leaving the school entirely. And the worst thing was that he would have to return to school the next day, and see Molly. Sherlock began to regret having sat next to her in every class they had happened to have with each other.

Molly was all that the young man could think about. He still loved her, despite the events of the day. He doubted that a day would come when he didn't love her. He'd loved her for years, ever since they were children. And, just like the child he had been when they first met, he had lied to her, and cried.

Sherlock was certain that Molly didn't love him in return. After all, she had come to every possible conclusion about him loving someone except for the most obvious, that it was her that he loved. She didn't even think it an option. That _he_ was an option.

Sherlock didn't enter his house, for fear of his parents or Mycroft finding out that he had skipped school, until after four o'clock. He shoved the ball into his pocket and descended the ladder, jumping off and walking across his backyard. The storm cloud that he had seen that morning was still there and a light sprinkle had begun. Sherlock could tell that it would soon become a full-blown thunderstorm within a few minutes.

Upon entering the house, he saw Mycroft smirking at him from the table in the dining room. He could obviously deduce, by Sherlock's manner, that asking Molly out hadn't gone well at all.

"Finally realize that I was correct about Miss Hooper, brother mine?" The older boy inquired. Sherlock shot his brother a glare, only to have it returned with a smirk. "Sherlock, you know that I only want what is best for you, and that Hooper girl certainly isn't-"

"Shut the hell up, Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted at his brother, leaving the man with an alarmed look on his face. Sherlock had hardly ever shouted at him like that, and not at all once he'd grown out of childhood.

Sherlock couldn't take it anymore. He sprinted away from his brother, up the stairs to his room, like a child. But Sherlock didn't care; he just had to get away from his brother. Mycroft was the main reason why he'd always had doubts about him and Molly ever being in a relationship past friendship. And the worst part about the entire thing was that Mycroft had been right the entire time. His sentiment for Molly had only hurt him, as had been proven that day. Sherlock had tried to express his deep sentiment, to come out of his shell just a bit more, and it had blown up in his face. John laughed at him, he cried, Sherlock cried, and Molly didn't even care. At least, that was how Sherlock saw the situation.

After Sherlock had got into his room, he slammed the door behind him and got to work. First of all, he chucked his and Molly's ball into the bin. It took a lot of strength for him to force himself to do so, but eventually he succeeded. Molly now knew that he loved her, and why would a girl like her ever want to remain friends with a stupid lovesick boy like him? She wouldn't. Sherlock knew she wouldn't.

Next, Sherlock gathered all of his and Molly's pictures, where Molly was depicted or mentioned. It took all that he had in him to not shed any tears, looking back at their time together for the last time.

Once, when they were both nine years old, the two children had gone to an orchard to pick apples. Molly filled both of their baskets, while Sherlock just spent the entire time looking at the bees.

Another time, when the both of them were eleven, Sherlock had kissed Molly on the cheek for the first time after opening her present for him on his birthday. It was a pearly white skull. Sherlock promptly named it Billy, and stuck it on his bedside table so that it could scare off the monsters at night.

When they were twelve, Sherlock had somehow convinced Molly to watch a horror movie marathon with him. After the first two movies, Sherlock was clutching onto Molly for dear life while she was entranced in the gore, pointing out how real cut-up bodies wouldn't actually look like that. Sherlock didn't listen in the slightest. Eventually, during a particularly gruesome part of The Human Centipede, Sherlock promptly fainted. Sadly, nobody had been around to take a picture of that.

On their first day of secondary school, Sherlock and Molly jumped for joy and hugged each other tightly upon hearing that they were put in all of their classes together, save for maths. That was when they started their tradition of sitting next to each other in every class, always.

Sherlock refused to shed any tears as he looked back at his and Molly's history together. The partners in crime, their parents would always call them. Who knew that this was what the two partners in crime would become?

Finally, Sherlock sat upon his bed and brought his hands up to his temples, thinking as hard as he possibly could. He spent the next hours like that, not moving in the slightest. The boy looked and looked and looked in his mind for some way for him to delete knowledge and memories.

So there he sat, upon his bed. The fifteen year old Sherlock began building his mind palace, all because of a girl. But Molly Hooper wasn't just a girl, no. she was much more than that. She was enough to make and break Sherlock within a matter of seconds. She was the one person who could change his mind, make him apologize and mean it, or make him cry. She knew none of that.

So Sherlock made sure that she never would.

He reduced the girl to the bare essentials; name, age, sex, those sorts of things. He forgot Molly Hooper, the girl who made him human, and now knew her as Molly, the meek, mousy girl who happened to sit next to him in every class.

It took hours, and Sherlock didn't sleep a wink that night. Molly had proven to him that sentiment would only hurt him, that it only broke hearts and nothing more. So he took away his own heart, locked it away so that nobody could ever hurt him again.

Meanwhile, Molly Hooper sat on her bed as well. But, unlike Sherlock, she had no determination not to cry. The way that Sherlock looked at her just before he ran away- that broken, defenseless look- was burned into the backs of her eyes. She had broken Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

The sentiment that he had for her was obviously more than a petty schoolboy crush. He loved her. She was what kept him strong, what made him human. She made him a better person. And now, all of that was ruined. The boy had grown up with an older brother telling him that sentiment was useless and wrong, and that it would just hurt him. Then, a girl came along, and changed all of that for him. She showed him sentiment in a different light, a better one. But when he tried to express any sentiment beyond deep friendship, he had been broken. Mycroft had been proved right.

* * *

For all of the years following, Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes lived in constant confusion, caused by each other.

Why does he never talk to me anymore, Molly would ask herself. And why does he look at me like I'm a complete stranger? Like we didn't spend most of our entire lives together?

Why does she always talk to me, Sherlock would wonder. And why does she act like we're best friends, when we don't know each other at all? Why does she always look at me like I've done her a personal wrong?

Their parents lived in confusion as well, especially Mummy Holmes. Just when she expected her son to be in a happy relationship with his best friend, the boy completely changed. He never talked to anyone anymore, and especially not Molly, his best friend. He seemed to act like he didn't know her at all.

Just like the two teenagers grew apart, the Holmes and Hooper families grew apart as well. Sherlock was blamed for Molly crying at night and having increasing anxiety, while Sherlock claimed that he had no idea why some random girl from his class would cry over him.

And yet, Molly never took of the necklace that she had received for her tenth birthday. Sherlock also never got rid of Billy the skull, never.


	6. We Meet Again

Polar opposites, that was what their memories were. Polar opposites. One remembered a childhood with a best friend that never left her side, who stuck with her no matter what. The other remembered a childhood of loneliness, of being picked on and ridiculed and called a freak.

Sherlock's memory didn't change in the slightest for years. He still knew who Molly was, of course. Molly Hooper, the girl who had far too many classes with him. That was what she was, right? The girl who sat next to him? That was what Sherlock supposed, at least. He hardly ever talked to her, save the few times he forgot to bring a pencil to class, or when she always picked him when they were assigned to do partner work, for some reason that Sherlock didn't know. At first, she always sat near him during lunch or study hall, but that quickly ended. The boy made it quite clear that he wasn't comfortable with an almost complete stranger always talking to him. Why that statement brought the girl to tears, he would never know.

John started to notice that the two had been spending quite a lot less time together as of late, and he approached Molly about it. She was just as confused as he. Molly shed a few tears during that meeting, as she obviously blamed herself for Sherlock's distant behavior. She thought that her knowing about his love for her was the cause of all of this, but that wouldn't make sense. It was as though Sherlock didn't know her. And, well, Sherlock wasn't some freak who could delete their memories, was he? No, that would be impossible. People couldn't do that, not even Sherlock Holmes.

Years passed, and Sherlock only grew more distant. He forgot his friends- though, truth be told, he only really had one- and focused on training himself. The young man had always been able to read people extraordinarily well, but the fact that he could read people was extraordinary in itself. He had to be better, to live up to his full potential. Sherlock trained his mind, forcing himself to become this machine, with no emotions, no capacity for sentiment. It killed Mummy Holmes inside to watch her boisterous little boy turn into such a man. Though, Mycroft couldn't have been any prouder.

When Sherlock packed for Uni, he didn't quite know why a woman whom he'd never met had come to his front door and said that Molly sent her congratulations, though she couldn't come herself. Molly, of course, was a rather common name, so Sherlock thought nothing of it. Molly was very lucky that she hadn't come with her mother to see the boy before he left.

University was a difficult ride for the both of them. Molly still cried at night, and kept a picture of Sherlock by her bed. Many of the girls who shared her dorm would ask her if the handsome man in the photo was her boyfriend, and Molly would always shake her head and pretend to laugh about it, while her heart slowly crumbled to dust inside of her.

Everyone in Sherlock's dorm hated him. Many days, he would have to have someone be sent to receive the day's work and homework while he was bedridden from the fights that he often found himself in. He always felt like he was missing something, though. Something crucial in his life, and he didn't know what it was. It was like someone had ripped a chunk out of him and replaced it with Styrofoam. The hole wasn't filled, just stuffed with something completely different that might have helped him feel less empty. In his third year of Uni, the twenty year-old couldn't find anything to fill the empty hole inside of him. He turned to substances. Sherlock would wake up in places he couldn't remember falling asleep in, covered in God knows what. Cocaine filled the hole better than anything else ever did, but it was still not enough. He couldn't find that vital thing to fill the hole in his metaphorical heart.

Sherlock Holmes dropped out not long after. Everything was too much for him, and he felt that nothing that he learned in that school would be any use to him in the real world. One boy, Sebastian, said something to him on his last day that would change his life forever.

"What are you going to do now, freak? Use your amazing deduction powers to, what, become a detective?"

That sarcasm-filled voice was what gave him a dream, his first stroke of inspiration since he had started at that damned school. He would become a detective.

Not an ordinary detective, no. Sherlock didn't want to work with the police. He had taught himself, over the years, that relying on other people would just slow him down, and that he needed to find some way to work independently. A second stroke of brilliance hit him. A Consulting Detective. Sherlock would make himself known to the police, show them that they needed him to solve cases for them when they were out of their depth. He did just that, by crashing a crime scene and showing off to everyone working. Some- Detective Inspector Lestrade, for instance- found the man very impressive. Others, like Philip Anderson or DI Dimmock, did not. Sherlock was brought in to Scotland Yard for one case, then two, then five. That was when his career just started taking off.

* * *

Molly finished University with a nearly perfect GPA and a Master's Degree. Her mother couldn't have been any prouder- though, she was a bit taken aback when Molly informed her that she would be working in a morgue for a living, cutting up dead bodies. She found it in herself to respect her daughter's profession, however.

Molly loved her job very much. She enjoyed the quiet and peace of the morgue, where she worked alone, with nobody there except for the corpses. It was a gruesome thought, but the truth, nevertheless. She was completely and absolutely respected by all of her co-workers, as she was one of the only females to work in the morgue, not to mention that many said that she was the best at her job out of anyone else. Molly _was_ completely and absolutely respected, until that one day. The day she would never forget. The first night that she had cried alone, at night, since her days in Uni.

Sherlock bloody Holmes had walked into her morgue, disregarded her completely, and headed straight to her lab equipment. She hadn't recognized him at first, Molly just thought that he was some nutter who had somehow found his way to her lab.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave right now, I am in the middle of something, and-"

"I am supposed to be here. DI Lestrade has given me permission to use your lab. Lestrade asked me to tell you that you may kick me out if you wish, but I'd advise that you don't. After all, that would just put us behind on our search for the killer of Mr. and Mrs. Marian," Sherlock said at a pace that most humans wouldn't be able to speak, let alone articulate as well as he did.

That was when Molly nearly fainted, or burst out crying. He was here. Sherlock Holmes was actually in her lab. She had assumed that, after graduating, she would never see Sherlock again. That thought made Molly both ecstatic and rather depressed. It upset her greatly that she might never see Sherlock Holmes again, but the thought of her being completely out of her life was oddly appealing. She would have no more nights crying herself to sleep, staring at a picture of him while she wondered what she had done to make him like this. It was an opportunity for a new start, to finally focus on her own life and not Sherlock Holmes'.

Molly couldn't answer him; she just stared at the man. He had changed so much. While his younger self still possessed a bit of baby fat, this older Sherlock had sharp facial features and hands that looked like they could strangle a man easily, or gently pet a dog. His hair was still in the same style, a mop of raven black curls. Molly supposed that he didn't really concern himself too much with how his hair looked, though he obviously cared very much about his clothing, going by the tailored suit that he was currently donning underneath a thick black belstaff. She had to admit that he looked rather dashing out of a school uniform.

Sherlock was extremely confused as to why this woman was staring at him without a word. Had he said something that ordinary people like her would consider inappropriate? Sherlock really wasn't concerned with societal norms. The woman had a vaguely familiar look on her face, an expression of pain and sadness, while also mixed with confusion. He was extremely familiar with that feeling; he had felt it nearly every day during his days in Uni. But he didn't recognize that facial expression from himself, no. It was someone else. Someone he could hardly remember; a name, burning at the back of his head but he just couldn't pick it out.

"Have we met?" Sherlock inquired after a few more moments of the awkward staring. Sherlock was taken even further aback by how much more sadness he saw appear on her face.

"Um, yes, actually. I-I knew you when we were children. Well, w-we knew each other, actually," The woman stammered, looking down at her feet instead of looking him in the eyes. He still didn't remember her, after all of those years. Well, she shouldn't have expected her to remember. After all, he hardly knew who she was after that dreadful day, during which he acted as if he actually had no remembrance of who she was, or the childhood that they had spent together.

"Ah. I see. Well, it is good to see you again, I suppose, um…" Sherlock glanced down at her nametag for a moment before looking back up at her eyes. "Molly Hooper." For some reason, Sherlock felt an odd hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach as he said those two words. That frightened him a bit. It was just two random sounds chosen to represent who she was as a human being, which was all that names were. It shouldn't have had any physical effect on him to say this random woman from school's name.

Molly could tell that Sherlock still didn't know who she was at all, given that he obviously had to look at her nametag before he could actually address her by her name. It hurt more than words could describe. She couldn't see the very small change in his expression as he said her name, though, since she was looking at the ground the entire time.

She must have not been the nicest person to me during our time together as children, Sherlock assumed. It made sense, after all. She wouldn't look him in the eyes, like she was embarrassed by the fact that she had known him as a child. She probably still felt guilty about all of it. That was the conclusion that Sherlock came to.

"Well, anyways, I will be using the lab equipment now," It wasn't a request, it was a blunt statement. Without another word, the infuriating man went over to the equipment and began doing God knows what, while Molly did her best not to stare at him. Or worse, cry.

Leaving the lab in silence, Molly walked over to her friend Meena's office where, thankfully, she was on break. Molly entered the office silently, her eyes filling with tears. She now allowed herself to cry, since Sherlock Holmes was nowhere to be seen. Meena stared at Molly as she walked in, her confused expression turning into concern as she saw that her close friend was on the verge of tears. She rushed over and took the other woman's hand, giving her one of the two chairs in the office, while she went back to the door Molly had entered from, and shut it.

"What is it, Molls? What's wrong?" The woman inquired worriedly as she sat down across from Molly. Tears flowed down Molly's face as she hung her head, too ashamed of herself to look her friend in the eyes. She thought that it would all be over. She hoped and wished that she would be able to last one day without thinking about him, that she wouldn't shed any more tears because of that man. But that would now be impossible, what with Sherlock being back. He had even moved to London, just like she did! She was sure that some of her female friends would call it a "sign", but Molly called it a curse. Even though he couldn't even bother to remember her name, he still managed to always be near her, no matter how much she hoped and prayed against it.

"It's him; the boy I told you about. Sherlock Holmes," Molly muttered, choking back a sob when she spoke his name. Jesus, she couldn't even get through his name without crying. It's pathetic, she thought. He shouldn't have this much of an effect on you, when you didn't even feel for him romantically until years after he somehow forgot about her. It was much too late by then, she supposed.

"What? You never told me that he was Sherlock Holmes! I would have known who he was. He's helped the DI a few times…" Meena's voice trailed off as she realized that this probably was not the best thing to say in that situation. "Anyways, what about him? I thought that you were trying to forget him- well, forget him the best that you can. Why's he coming back to you now?"

"Exactly. He came back,"

Meena's hand flew to her mouth as she stared at her friend in shock. She didn't know much about Sherlock Holmes, besides the fact that he was some detective. She didn't expect him reside close enough to Bart's to actually come in to the hospital. Though, it was a fairly obvious fact that he would need access to a lab or the morgue for some cases.

"Oh Molls, I am so sorry. You know, you can make him leave, there's a rule that says employees can make visitors leave whenever," Meena suggested, shrugging her shoulders. However, Molly shook her head.

"But…I can't. I know Sherlock Holmes, and he is impossible to reason with. Besides, he's got to find who killed Mr. and Mrs. Marion," Molly quoted Sherlock's words from earlier.

"Well, you're just going to have to ignore him. Pretend he isn't there. I'm sure he'll be gone in a few," Meena gave the over woman a small hug and held open the door for her as she left the office. She smiled sadly at the pathologist, pitying her for having to deal with this, obviously difficult, man and situation years later.

Meena was wrong. Sherlock was not gone in a few. In fact, he stayed in the lab for the duration of her shift, and requested to stay after. It was the strangest thing though; half of the time, he just sat on one of the stools, his eyes closed and his hands raised up to his temples. There were sudden occasions when he's burst out with random words after continually muttering under his breath. He seemed so excited at some points, and yet so angry and upset at others. It was a fascinating process to observe, but Molly had to force herself not to look at him. He grew up to be so handsome, but the sight of his face made Molly want to hit him.

"You were crying,"

Sherlock's voice cut through the silence, startling Molly enough to nearly drop her coffee. She looked over at the man who, for the first time, was actually talking to her without needing something or giving an excuse.

"I…I don't know what you're talking about. I wasn't crying," Molly said far too quickly, wringing her hands in her lap. How had he known? She hadn't started crying until she was far from the lab, and she had made sure to clean herself up before reentering the lab.

"You're a horrible liar, Molly Hooper," The sound of his voice saying her name, after all those years of not talking, had her struggling to not tear up. "You were crying, most likely from grief. And yet, there was nothing in this room to trigger grief, save for the few personal items that you use in a futile attempt to decorate this room. Your cheeks are damp, but it can't be perspiration, as it is roughly twenty-one degrees in this hospital. So, obviously, you had wiped your eyes but there were still some tears on your cheeks that were left forgotten. So, Molly Hooper, I ask you; why were you crying?"

Molly stared at the detective for a few moments before coming back to herself. His deduction skills had improved, seeing as he had noticed her damp cheeks from about three metres away. He must have been practicing.

"I, um, I lost a friend. Nothing for you to worry about, Mr. Holmes," It felt so odd calling him anything other than his first name. As children, they only referred to each other as their last names in jest. Molly never expected to ever call Sherlock "Mr. Holmes". It just felt…wrong.

"Please, call me Sherlock," The man muttered as he resumed what he had been doing.

Reluctantly, Molly had let Sherlock stay in the lab after her shift. He was just too difficult to say no to, especially when he passed her a compliment once or twice. She really should have realized that he was only complimenting her to use the lab, but she didn't. It just was one of the best things to happen to her, Sherlock actually complimenting her after years of silence, and it never crossed her mind for a second that he would be lying. Unlucky for her.


	7. The game

** A/N: **

**I'm sorry for the wait! I've been busy, and haven't had time to update often. Family business, those sorts.**

**I'm trying to stick to canon as much as I can in these chapters, though it was a bit of a mistake to incorporate John in their childhood, since introducing him again as a new character is difficult when we already met him.**

**Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, it really keeps me going. I love every single one of you who actually enjoys my work. I've never written anything multi-chapter before, so comments, suggestions, or just nice reviews are appreciated.**

**Thanks again.**

* * *

There were normal days with Sherlock back, and there were abnormal days. On a normal day, he would just come in, disregard her, and mess with one of the bodies or the lab equipment. Once in awhile he'd say 'Hello', but it wasn't that often. Molly noticed that he gradually became more polite since some man began hanging around him, though he never caught the man's name. Well, either way, she was glad that someone was influencing Sherlock to become more polite, since she certainly wouldn't be eager to take on that job. As brilliant as he was, Sherlock Holmes was a child, who needed a babysitter at generally all times.

On an abnormal day, he would talk nonstop about whatever case he was on, no matter if Molly was listening or not. Though, she always was. It was an opportunity to see his beautiful smile, and she couldn't pass that up, since it was so rare for him to smile like that, and even rarer for her to actually see it. He wouldn't even mess with a body, nor do any experiments, he'd just talk to her. Molly enjoyed those days greatly, though she knew that she was just replacing his skull when he talked to her.

Today was a normal day. At least, it started normal. Molly was just sitting at her table, filling out a few forms on her most recent autopsy, when Sherlock rushed into the lab, not even saying hello, practically flying directly to her equipment. Molly didn't mind, it was just something that he did. Though, this time, he was accompanied by the man who everyone said he now lived with. He was fairly short, with graying blonde hair and a tense demeanor, as though he was always on the lookout for any sort of danger. There was something vaguely familiar about this man, though Molly couldn't put her finger on it.

The shorter man looked a bit surprised that Sherlock hadn't even said hello to her before barging over to her equipment. He gave her an apologetic look, and then decided that if Sherlock wouldn't be polite, he could, at least.

"Hello, sorry about him, don't know what's gotten into him," The man said apologetically. Molly just smiled at him, since he obviously didn't know Sherlock too well. Well, more like he wasn't familiar with all of his habits, however annoying they were.

"No, no it's fine. He, um, he always does that," Molly smiled at him. "I'm Molly, Molly Hooper." She held out her hand to shake. She was greatly confused by the expression of gleeful surprise on his face.

"Molly? My god, is it really you? After all of these years, I never thought I'd run into you again!" The man exclaimed. When she looked confused and a bit alarmed, he elaborated. "It's me, John Watson. Remember? Your best friend from school? Well, besides…" His voice trailed off as he looked over at the detective, remembering the terrible happenings of that year.

"John?" Molly exclaimed, beaming. She had never expected to see John again. As she studied his face, Molly noticed the small details that made him different than his teenage self. While his adolescent self had bright almost platinum blonde hair, and a fair bit of baby fat, this older John's hair was graying, and he looked very fit. But the biggest difference was his eyes. They showed grief and trauma that she had never seen before.

Not quite knowing what to do then, John decided to hug her, which Molly accepted. While they hugged, Sherlock scoffed in the background, muttering something about "sentiment". John pulled away, glaring at the detective.

"You do know that she can kick you out, right?" John inquired sarcastically. To that, Sherlock scoffed once more. Molly looked a bit embarrassed and averted her eyes, as she had never once kicked him out of the lab or the morgue, not even on his worst days. Even when he insulted her, or was abnormally rude, she still never made him leave. She was too shy, too afraid of upsetting him further. The tabled had certainly turned since their childhood.

John looked between the two, bewilderment painting his face. Then, he realized what their dynamic was, the exact opposite of their teenage dynamic. She was the timid, shy one who always complied to his wishes and Sherlock… Well, Sherlock was the rude one who completely disregarded her, and yet Molly loved him no matter what. It was actually pretty sad, just a repeat of the past, though mirrored.

"So, John, what have you been doing since, you know… school?" Molly felt a bit guilty for almost completely forgetting about him since their teenage years.

"Oh, well, I got a medical degree. Then, I did what I always said I'd do, I joined the army. I was a doctor. It looks like you weren't the only one to follow their dreams, eh?" He said in jest, as Molly always said that she wanted to be a coroner or a pathologist. Molly grinned at the man. "But then I, um, I was injured in Afghanistan. Shot, to be specific. Got sent back home, and now I'm sharing a flat with this git." He pointed at Sherlock behind his shoulder. Sherlock sent a glare John's way, while the other two just laughed.

"Well, John, it's great to see you again. What's it like living with the famous Sherlock Holmes?" Molly chuckled. John laughed as well. Now, this was more like their childhood, making jokes on each other's expense.

"Well, it's got its ups and downs. I'm never bored, which is good, but I always have to keep this one from getting bored," He pointed at Sherlock once again. "Sometimes he sleeps until twelve, when he's not on a case, and I have to end up being the one to wake him up, since he gets angry when I don't. and other times he's up at three in the morning, shooting the walls with his bloody revolver. But, well, it's better than army barracks. I'm living with my best friend, and that's great." He smiled. Molly hadn't expected life with Sherlock to be easy, but she supposed it was rewarding, in its own way. Well, she wouldn't have to experience that, Molly supposed. At least, that was her opinion.

"Sounds…interesting," Molly gave a smile. John shrugged, then smiled as well.

"It is, when Sherlock isn't being a dick. Luckily, I seem to be helping with that," He glanced over at the detective, who was ignoring them completely.

After that, Sherlock and Molly worked in silence, Molly doing a few tests, and Sherlock just messing with the equipment. John noticed that they looked extremely similar while they worked, both concentrating and blocking out the world around them. It was like they were the same person, and it was a bit of an interesting process to watch, to be honest.

Eventually, Molly's shift ended, and she told Sherlock that he had to leave. She was getting a bit more confident about telling Sherlock what to do, though not much. Molly packed up her things, while Sherlock cleaned up whatever mess he made. Not of his own accord, of course, John had told him to do it. Molly reached into her pocket and found that something was missing; her mobile. She had left it over by the lab equipment where Sherlock was currently- and begrudgingly- cleaning up his mess.

"Sherlock, could you toss me my phone?" Molly inquired as she hitched her bag up onto her shoulder. Sherlock picked up the phone, and was about to toss it, when he had the strangest urge to throw it in a way so that she wouldn't catch it, as though something bad would happen if she were to catch it. Sherlock shook off this ridiculous thought and tossed the phone over, and Molly caught it. "Thanks, Sherlock." She smiled at the detective.

When Molly caught the phone, he felt a strange shock of dread in his stomach, and found his mouth moving of its own accord. What he said was shocking to all three people in the room.

"I know how to dance," He blurted out. Molly stared at the detective, as he looked just as embarrassed as the day that they had danced together, when they were thirteen years old. A ghost of his former self showed through this harsh façade that he had created for himself. She felt tears welling in her eyes, so she turned away.

"I know," She whispered, leaving the room immediately. Again, she was crying over Sherlock Holmes. She felt so weak, so pathetic. Just the smallest trigger had her weeping. But then, she realized what his strange outburst meant.

He had remembered.

At least, for a second, he could remember their childhood together. At least, he could remember that day. It was a start, but not nearly enough. She wanted him to remember everything, how they were best friends, how they shared a childhood, how he was in love with her. The thought just made Molly feel worse, as she was certain that this was a one-time thing. Just another odd happening in her entire world of odd happenings, being around Sherlock Holmes so much. She should just forget that it ever happened.

But she couldn't, never. She couldn't stop thinking about it, for days on end. She was always reminded that Sherlock indeed loved her as a child, in more ways than one, and he completely forgot about it. How he forgot, she didn't know. It was odd, people couldn't just forget their entire childhoods unless something had happened to cause that, and there was no event that caused that. None that Molly knew of, anyways. Just like that first day that he never acknowledged her when they were teenagers, Molly fell asleep that night upset and confused.


	8. Mirrors in History

**A/N:**

**I am so, so sorry for the wait. I have no excuses for not posting, since it was all procrastination. I feel horrible for making my fans wait.**

**Sorry, to all three of you.**

**All joking aside, I still feel terrible for the wait, and I feel even worse because this will be a filler chapter consisting of what happened after the before events. Immediately after. So, every time there is a line break, just be aware that the setting of the story has changed. Not too drastically, I'm just basically making myself seem special by switching between the present and the past like the lazy writer I am.**

**Also, you may have noticed that I joined chapters two and three together, it is not a glitch with the website; it was just that people seemed to stop reading after chapter three because the first few chapters are annoyingly short. Hopefully this makes more people read on into the story and not think this a series of one-shots.**

**Anyways, I hope you all don't hate me for this filler chapter, I just had this craving for some embarrassed Sherlock, an attempted wingman, and some cats.**

**Without further ado, Chapter eight.**

* * *

John and Sherlock left the hospital, Sherlock walking increasingly quickly for some reason, as though to get away from Bart's as quickly as he possibly could. John found it difficult to keep up with Sherlock's strides, since he was almost embarrassingly shorter than Sherlock. The detective hailed a cab without so much as a word to his friend, just staring blankly at nothing at all. John had never seen him this way, and it was starting to frighten him.

A cab came soon enough, and Sherlock still did not utter a word. He seemed almost traumatized by the earlier events, as though he had just awoken from a nightmare. It made absolutely no sense. He had just told Molly that he knew how to dance; on accident, it seemed. But why would he do that? Too many questions floated through his head, questions that he hoped Sherlock would answer.

"Sherlock," The doctor began, looking up at the other man. "What was all of _that_ back there? That dancing lark, whatever that was. You seem a bit…shaken up about it."

Sherlock didn't respond, he didn't even acknowledge that John had spoken until a few moments later, when he turned to look at him as though he was mad.

"What are you talking about? I've no idea what you mean," If there was one thing that Sherlock Holmes wasn't, it was a shoddy liar. But there he was, trying to weasel his way out of a confession like a child who came home with a detention slip. Ready to lie to save their own skins at any moment.

"Sherlock, don't lie to me. You threw Molly her Blackberry and then told her you could dance. What was that about?" This wasn't one of the most odd things he'd ever seen Sherlock Holmes do, but it was certainly odd. He only said strange, random things like that when he was in his Mind Palace, which he wasn't at the time.

"Slip of the tongue, wasn't thinking. Just something I blurted out accidentally. It means nothing," Blatantly lying. Again. He was perhaps a bit more convincing in his lie this time, but not by too much.

"Was that your idea of asking her out?"

"What?!" Sherlock nearly shouted, causing the driver to swerve off the road a bit, spitting out a prolific amount of swear words.

"Well, you did just give her back her mobile. You weren't asking her to go dancing with you or something?"

"No! Why would I ask Molly Hooper to dance with me?"

* * *

He could hear the muttering from his room. He could hear the muttering when he walked down the stairs after Molly had to go home. There was no muttering at the dinner table, but the air was buzzing with unspoken words that wanted badly to be released.

"So, Sherlock, how long have you two been together? Should we be expecting wedding invitations any time soon, perhaps?" Mycroft inquired teasingly from across the table. The younger Holmes boy turned beet red and glared at his older brother.

"You know what would be wonderful, Mycroft? If you'd shove that spoon down your own throat," Sherlock gave an impish grin, but his eyes burned with anger. "But you're bound to someday, considering how much time it spends in your mouth already."

The Holmes parents just watched for the first part of their argument, but Daddy Holmes had to cut in at Sherlock's remark.

"That's enough, boys! If you can't talk to each other in a civil way then don't talk!" He usually didn't sound this harsh, but he was sick and tired of both of his boys always being at each other's throats. "Mycroft, you can ask him a question without teasing him. Sherlock, you can respond without making fun of him." Daddy Holmes said to both of his boys in turn.

"Alright, I'll try again," Mycroft gave a smile, sarcasm dripping from both it and his tone of voice. "Sherlock, who don't you tell us about your new girlfriend?" He inquired, his forced smile turning into a grin.

"For one thing, she isn't my girlfriend,"

* * *

"I am not interested in Molly Hooper. She is merely an acquaintance, nothing more," Sherlock grumbled to the man beside him, handing the cabbie a few bills before exiting the cab. "I'm not looking for a relationship, and certainly not one with Molly Hooper. I barely know the woman." Now it was John's turn to look at Sherlock as though he was mad.

"Barley know her? Sherlock, you've known her since grade school. You were all but in love with the girl, and now you say that you barley know her? What's gotten into you?" John stared at him incredulously, following him into 221B.

"Honestly, you're turning into Mycroft. Every time I come relatively close to someone he thinks that he'll be seeing wedding invitations the next day. As if I'm the one who stares at Inspector Lestrade's arse," The detective muttered childishly, flopping down onto his armchair. He began looking through a file of cold cases that would soon be excellent fuel for the fireplace.

"Are you telling me that your brother is gay for Lestrade?" John stared at the detective as he sat down as well, looking through the rest of the paper that he hadn't managed to read that morning, since Sherlock dragged him out of the flat because he was bored. It was like living with a toddler, honestly.

"Obviously,"

* * *

"It's obvious that you've got a crush on the girl. You were dancing with her earlier. _Slow dancing,_" Mycroft stifled laughter.

"At least I'm not as obvious as you," Sherlock was neither denying nor confirming that he had a crush on Molly for obvious reasons; mainly because it was the truth. "You honestly didn't think I could hear you last week?" Sherlock smirked as Mycroft went pale, and their parents just stared at them with narrowed eyes.

"What is he talking about, Mycroft? What happened last week?" Mummy Holmes inquired of her boy.

"He had a friend over. They were studying, apparently. You and Greg sure are loud studiers," Sherlock spat with a smirk as colour appeared on Mycroft's face. "And I wasn't aware that some people study with their clothes off."

* * *

"So, what was that, then, if you weren't asking her out?" John asked, putting the paper down. It was just some crap about a celebrity who had overdosed and two more who got plastic surgery. Nothing new there.

"I honestly do not know, John. I didn't mean to say that. It just slipped out, I don't know why, or what it meant. Even if I did, I have a feeling I'd be a bit reluctant to just come out and tell people,"

* * *

While Sherlock looked rather proud of himself, the two Holmes parents looked thoroughly shocked, and Mycroft on the verge of tears. It suddenly dawned on the young boy that even if he could figure it out himself, that didn't mean that his parents knew about Mycroft. About his boyfriend. Oh god, he hadn't come out yet.

"Mycroft, I-I didn't know, I'm sorry-" He was cut off by Mycroft suddenly getting up out of his chair and facing his younger brother. Sherlock had never seen Mycroft so upset and furious.

"WHY COULDN'T YOU JUST KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT FOR ONCE IN YOUR BLOODY LIFE? FOR ONCE, YOU COULDN'T LET ME ANY SECRETS, COULD YOU? MY LIFE HAS BEEN ABSOLUTE HELL EVER SINCE YOU DECIDED TO COME ALONG! I WISH YOU HAD JUST BEEN ABORTED LIKE MUMMY AND DADDY WANTED! YOU'RE RUINING MY LIFE!" The older boy shouted at his brother before running away to his room, slamming the door loudly. Mycroft wasn't the only one with tears in his eyes at this point.

"I-Is that true? D-Did you want to abort me?" Sherlock said with a hardly contained sob. "That's all I do, isn't it? Ruin lives, that's all that I do. Even you two didn't want me." His voice went from sadness to bitterness as his statement concluded, and he too ran to his room, leaving their parents wondering why it always had to come to this.

* * *

"That man is ruining my life, Toby,"

Molly had arrived at her flat a few hours previous. She had a quick shower, ate a frozen meal she's thawed out in the microwaves, and watched far too many episodes of Glee, considering that she had the morning shift the next day. And now she lied in bed, stroking the head of her cat as she stared at the plain white ceiling.

"I never even wanted to see him again. I would have been perfectly content with my life without him. But he just had to pop back into my life with some sort of bloody amnesia or something," Obviously, the cat didn't respond, just purring a bit as his head was petted.

"I mean, what have I done to deserve this? I've hardly ever said a harsh word to anyone. I go to work, pay my bills, I have a few friends. How do I deserve this?" She didn't have as many friends as she liked to think, that probably had something to do with the fact that she talked to her cat and had a mild obsession with American television.

"At least I'll always have you to make things better, isn't that right, Toby?" Molly lifted the cat up and held him over her, looking the cat in the eyes. She kissed the cat on the nose, and he just gave a soft "Mew" in return. Well, it was something.

On that depressing note, Molly turned off the lamp on her bedside table and closed her eyes, ready for the four hours of sleep she'd get, thanks for her own inability to go a day with more than five new episodes of Glee on her DVR that needed to be watched without watching them.

Molly had no dreams that night, but Sherlock had a particularly strange one about the Waltz for some reason. Odd.

* * *

**A/N:**

**I swear I did not mean to make it this angsty. My muse just gets away from me sometimes, I don't know.**

**As always, follows and favourites are welcome, and reviews are more than welcome. Let me know if you have any suggestions or critiques, or even just nice comments. I love you all, as aforementioned.**

* * *

**Second A/N: **

**I've been receiving some messages about the line about Sherlock being aborted. Let me just say now that any beliefs or faiths of any of these characters do not reflect my faiths or beliefs whatsoever. **

**That's not really clearing things up, because I have no faiths, I know.**

**I am pro-choice, I was just making Sherlock react how I thought that any child would react upon hearing that they were almost aborted. Keep in mind that, though Sherlock has the intellect of an adult, he is still thirteen years old in that section of the chapter.**


	9. The Scandal

A/N:

I am sorrier for the wait than you can imagine. I know you hate to hear excuses, but I feel that I should just clear up that I've wanted to post this chapter for awhile now, but some things have gotten in the way. First, school started, to my life has basically been as unpleasant as it could possibly be. Next, my Wifi went out for what seemed like forever. For those who do not know, I live in the United States, and all Charter Wifi buyers had their Wifi cut off for what seemed like forever. But it's back on; I have some time at home, so here you go!

On with the show.

(By the way, this episode takes place during ASiB)

* * *

Being invited to a Christmas party at 221B was not something that Molly expected of her Christmas at all. She just planned to spend that Christmas, at home, alone, watching silly Christmas movies with Toby. Sadly enough, that had been her routine for longer than she cared to say, for she had barely any family, and none that she knew personally. Molly did have a few close friends, but they were all married or spending Christmas with their relatives. So it was just her and Toby this Christmas.

And, of course, she'd accepted the invitation immediately. Who wouldn't? Any person in her situation would gladly accept the chance to finally spend Christmas with someone other than her bloody cat. In addition to that, it was finally an opportunity to spend some time with Sherlock outside of the morgue, and possibly even become a new addition to their little group of friends.

It was pathetic; she knew that.

But not pathetic enough to stop her from going.

Molly stood in front of the full-body mirror in her bedroom, looking at the fifth dress in her closet that was a possible choice for the party. No, too frumpy. She wanted to dress festively, not like a nun. She discarded of the long cream dress, Tossing it on her bed along with a Navy Blue with red frills, a short yellow with flowers, and a plain green dress with far too many buttons. Reaching into the back of her closet, she pulled out a shorter black dress, with white trim and very thin shoulder-straps. A bit risqué, compared to her usual attire- but, well, it was something. Certainly better than anything else she had chosen.

The woman slipped it on easily, though zipping it up was the difficult part. She had to contort her arms quite a bit, to finally get it all of the way up. Looking in the mirror, she gave a timid smile at how she looked. It was so stupid that the fact that Sherlock would be at the party was what convinced her to dress like this. But she felt pretty, at the very least.

After she finally got the dress on, Molly left her bedroom and crossed the flat to her toilet, where she started on her hair and makeup. The lipstick and eye shadow was a bit thick, but still, Molly felt pretty. In her opinion, her hair looked stupid just flying loose, to she did it up on the top of her head, before adding the final touch; a bright present bow in her hair. Looking in the mirror one last time, she wore a smile, though she sighed. Molly looked nothing like herself. She would never dress like this on a normal day. Why was this any different?

But Molly didn't want to change. The pathetic urge to impress Sherlock took over her common sense, so she stuck with what she was wearing, slipping on a faux fur coat as well. Again, something she would never wear. The pathologist gave one final goodbye to Toby as she left her flat, trying to catch a cab as quickly as she could as the harsh winter air bit at her exposed skin.

* * *

The cab ride took a bit longer than what would have been ideal, since Christmas traffic was hell, as per usual, but she made it where she was going within a matter of minutes. Molly had brought some presents for everyone, including a particularly special one for Sherlock, a new scarf. He had been telling her that his old one wouldn't be of too much use soon, due to the small holes that were rapidly appearing. After handing the cabbie a few notes, Molly exited the cab, feeling both excited and terrified for the party as she squinted at the sign on the door of 221B.

_Party upstairs, just go up_

_SH_

She couldn't help but smile as she recognized Sherlock's handwriting on the scribbled note, heading inside and upstairs, as the note said. Upon entering the flat, she saw that she was just about the last person to show up. Greg Lestrade was already there; Molly recognized him from his silver hair. He wasn't the most unattractive man, even if he was a few years older than her. But the graying hair was probably also due to Sherlock… being Sherlock. John, of course, was there, and he seemed to have found a new girlfriend. Sherlock usually complained when he talked to Molly in the lab when he wasn't on a case or experimenting, so she knew all about John's habit of bringing home a new girlfriend just about every other week. Jolly old Mrs. Hudson was beaming widely at the sight of everyone talking and getting along; everyone except for, the man himself, Sherlock. He had his bow in hand, so he was obviously playing his violin. Or at least, he had been, since it was now sitting in a vacant chair. "Um, hello, everyone. Sorry, hello; it just said on the door to just, um, come up," She said sheepishly. Everyone was happy and smiling, saying hello to her, except perhaps John's girlfriend. She didn't look the happiest for some reason.

Molly didn't hear Sherlock's sarcastic muttering as she removed her coat, revealing her rather- well, revealing dress to everyone, including the three men in the room. John and Lestrade seemed impressed, to say the very least (particularly in Lestrade's case) but Sherlock just ignored it all and sat down at his computer.

"So, having our Christmas drinkies, then?" She inquired, repeating the statement in her head and realizing how stupid it sounded. Good going, Molly. Fantastic. She also chose to ignore Sherlock's muttering in favour of listening to Mrs. Hudson speaking, though her eyes were on Sherlock. Then Greg was offering her a drink, a bit urgently, but she accepted, not wanting to be rude.

"How's the…hip?" She asked Mrs. Hudson, remembering something Sherlock had told her about the landlady's "herbal soothers".

"Oh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking," Mrs. Hudson answered, wearing her wonderful smile that always seemed to brighten up the room.

"Well, I've seen much worse. But then, I do post-mortems," Molly joked, and then froze a bit at the looks she got. _Don't joke about work, Molly. _Of course she shouldn't joke about work, who in their right minds wanted to hear jokes about how she cut up dead bodies? Nobody. "Oh, god, sorry-" She began, but was cut off by Sherlock.

"Don't make jokes, Molly," He said, still staring at the computer screen. She tried to act like it didn't hurt.

"Oh, sorry," Molly apologized once again, this time much more quietly.

She then turned to talk to Greg and John instead, trying to distract herself from Sherlock's unnecessarily biting comment. It really shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. The conversation would have been nice, if not for Sherlock adding in a comment of his own every once in awhile. But what he said next was what really shocked her, as it was far from his normal behavior.

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him," He stated blatantly.

"Sorry, what?" She asked, her smile slipping off of her face quicker than water slipping down glass.

"In fact you're seeing him this very night, and giving him a gift." He was now wearing a fake smile, and that was when Molly knew she was in for it. John and Greg tried to interrupt, and Molly was more thankful than they could imagine, but then Sherlock kept going.

"Oh, come on, surely you've all noticed the present at the top of the bag; perfectly wrapped, with a bow. The others are slap-dash at best," He wasn't wrong. Molly had been in a hurry to wrap all of the gifts, for she had a shift in about fifteen minutes those few days ago, but she had made sure to wrap Sherlock's nicely, and even add a little bow.

Then Sherlock kept going. About how it was for someone special, how she was wearing an odd shade of lipstick for her (_Bright red, really Molly?)_ about how she was seeing the man tonight, evident by what she was wearing, and how she was just compensating for- oh.

No.

This could not be happening.

This could really not be happening.

And the worst part was how his voice trailed off when he opened the card to look at it, and saw that it was for him. How could he have been such an idiot? He clearly knew that she fancied him, she had gotten the gift for someone special, who else would it be for? After a short pause, Molly began to speak.

"You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always, _always_," She said, her eyes tearing up. But she refused to cry. She would not cry in front of everyone. She would _not_.

She started as Sherlock said the last thing she expected. _I am sorry_. Molly had to repeat it a few times in her head before she finally decided that this was real. Sherlock Holmes was actually apologizing for what he said.

Then he was coming closer. He was ducking his head. Was he…?

At the feeling of his lips brushing her cheek, Molly's heart skipped a beat, and she flushed scarlet. He wasn't forgiven, of course he wasn't. But Molly was at least relieved he felt remorse for his actions.

* * *

The rest of the party went by in a sort of blur, she didn't really pay attention to anything, which didn't say much, since the party really ended when Sherlock retreated to his room. The conversation after that was half-hearted, probably due to both Sherlock's absence and the scene he had made at her expense earlier. Molly was the first to leave, to go get rid of the ridiculous outfit she decided to wear for some reason. Lestrade left after, probably to confront his wife. Jeanette was gone far before then, for obvious reasons.

As soon as she made it home, Molly removed the silly dress, took off her gigantic earrings, took her hair down, and wiped off all of her makeup. One look in the mirror had her smiling again. She looked like herself. After changing into more comfortable clothing, a simple pair of trousers and a festive jumper, Molly settled down on her couch to catch the last few minutes of _A Christmas Carol._

Well, that was until she got a call from Sherlock, urging her to come to the morgue immediately. It was a bit childish, and petty, but she showed up late just to spite Sherlock for his frankly disgusting behavior earlier.

Why she seemed to always be at Sherlock's beck and call, Molly never knew. She knew it was pathetic, as said many times before, but no matter what, Molly would be by Sherlock's side whenever he needed her there. Or just wanted her there on some stupid whim. Either way, if Sherlock said the word, she would be there immediately. By the side of a man who didn't even know he used to love her like nobody else. He didn't know that, all of those years ago, she was his every waking thought. It was because of her he carried on with a smile, day after that. Those memories were gone, along with the boy who used to possess them. Because the Sherlock Holmes Molly used to know would never hurt her in this way. He would never think to do that.

Amazing how people change.


End file.
